by Jim Rudnick
Around him in the cargo bay, some who didn't know stirred, and the undercurrent of whispered sudden conversations was unmistakable.
"We do not know what the virus has done to us. We do not know what the virus will do to us. We only know that our life expectancy has tripled at least ... and more, most likely ..."
He turned to the Novertag political officer seated to his right.
"We would like to thank Novertag for their kind offer of the continent on their home world, but we have decided to instead take the Barony offer of the world of Throth."
The room exploded on that declaration, and the thrum of noise from the Council chamber on the screen was also loud. Tanner caught the eye of the Provost Guard to his left and held out his hand to keep the man still.
As the Lady St. August rose and then joined the Sachem at the podium, they shook hands, which surprised him no end. No one touched Royalty, so this was unusual, but then again, no one gave away a world either he thought.
"On behalf of the Barony of Neres, it pleases me greatly that the Ikarian people have chosen to accept our offer of Throth," she said, then looked up at the Council on the screen, and saw the Baroness was smiling haughtily at the Chairman just as she was smiling at the Sachem.
They think they've won big-time, he thought, Little do they know that the virus can't be found ... but they soon will. While he'd been able to hold both of the bidding realms off, now that the Barony had won, they would be able to test the Ikarians as they took over the management of their race. Moving them to Throth would take a bit of work, Tanner knew, but that's up to them.
As the room quieted, Hassun stepped back up to the podium and made the sign of respect again to the Council on the view screen and then to the Lady St. August once more. He looked over to the rest of his party who then rose and moved off the dais and away from the head table to mingle with the room.
Announcement time over and time to party, Tanner thought as he went over to the Lady St. August to congratulate her on her successful offer. While she was polite, he could tell that she felt that the decision was a foregone conclusion.
Typical, he thought, Royals are always right, and he sighed.
Later, much later, over a final Scotch, he noted that the reception had just about emptied of all the visitors and only a Provost, Lieutenant Rizzo, and a steward were present with him as he sat at the bar in the corner. He nodded to the lieutenant, tossed off his last gulp of Scotch, and then leaned on the lieutenant’s arm as he got some help to the lift and up to his quarters.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Master Adept swallowed, sat up straighter, and once again tried to sit as focused as she could—her arms held in her lap and her feet firmly planted on the floor of her ante-room. Around her the room was silent, but she could still feel something intruding on her psyche ... something ... something—yes, an interruption at the door.
She turned and faced the door, and in two minutes, there came a knock on her door, followed by the door slowly being opened. Slightly stooped over, her aide came into the room pushing the teacart ahead of him and moved toward the long couch on which she sat. After getting her tea all sorted out, arranged, and served, she waved off the aide. The door closed behind him as he left her alone once more.
She closed her eyes and looked ahead. There was a solitary window ahead that would last most of an hour before the meeting with the Zadrians, who were going to present their new ambassador to Eons, and that would take an hour too.
Time to try again, and she once more focused on the Ikarian ship and tried to look ahead by a minute, then an hour, a day and more ...
Whirling swirls of mist clouded her mind's eye, but eventually it cleared, and she could see the inside of the huge alien ship that held row after row of red cryonic Sleeper tanks; hundreds stretched off into the distance ahead. The long, long room was mostly empty she could see, but there were a couple of small groups of Ikarians who were talking to some white-coated healthcare individuals, about what she had no idea. They were slowly working down the long rows of red tanks, but it looked like they were not going tank-to-tank but hopscotching around, sometimes skipping ahead by a dozen or so, sometimes one by one. She knew the white-coated individuals were from the Barony, and she knew they were involved in getting some kind of a "baseline," which they were talking about, but more than that she didn't want to know.
Her focus dimmed slightly as she looked above that row up to the top one, the Alpha Row, and her attention moved down that long row from one long end to the other ... nothing here was any different.
She knew there was something here that needed her attention, but as usual, there were no road signs showing her where to direct her attention or where to focus on the timeline ahead.
Coursing down row after row, she saw nothing but—wait, what was that?
On Epsilon Row, away in the distance, she could see three white-coated scientist types that were wheeling ... wheeling ... what was that? It was a gurney of some sort but not exactly; it was more like a large, long sink-looking box—like a cooler of some type. As her perspective swirled around the trio, she saw that the cooler-like gurney had a gentle hum showing it was powered, and then she noticed that the top had a sterile cloth draped over its length, with small tools of some kind and electronic diagnostic tools too.
What caused her to pay more attention than what she could see were the faces of the scientists. They were all sweating profusely, and one had a half-smile plastered on his face and another a grimace. They were propelling the gurney with haste and with what appeared to be some kind of a secretive purpose. She let them go on and went back down the row in the direction they were coming from, and within twenty or so tanks down, something looked odd.
Her attention was taken by the lid of the red cryonic tank—well not the lid actually, but the glass faceplate that sat in the lid and was normally covered in frost and interior ice crystals.
Except this one was clear, no ice apparent at all, and more than that, there was no face of the Sleeper. The child that all the tanks held was not there.
Her perspective changed and she looked back down the row at the now distant retreating Barony scientists with their stolen, hidden Sleeper.
“So, they know,” she said to herself, “that the Ikarian virus could not be taken from an awake adult, but they wondered if they could segregate it within a Sleeper child and then test it to see if it could be used to pass along the longevity gene.”
Things faded slightly and she pushed her tongue up sharply against the roof of her mouth to try to maintain her focus but it faded, and she was suddenly back in her anteroom, the tea at her elbow.
She pondered this development and wondered about what the scientists would find and what that would mean for the RIM ...
#
Political Officer Vetochkin squeezed harder on the arm of his chair and turned toward the console as the Novertagian Secretariat logo appeared and then faded to be replaced by the face of his Premier.
Premier Sigalov was not smiling. He was not happy. It appears that he was about to unload on me, Anatoly thought, and he steeled himself for what was to come.
"Political Officer Vetochkin, we received your report and we are unpleased," the Premier said. His longish face was solemn and it held two piercing eyes and a nose that was slightly pulled up and away from the grimace on his lips. Wavy salt and pepper hair was combed, but barely, over his ears, and the part was anything but straight.
Anatoly nodded and was about to speak when the Premier raised his hand to stop his comments.
"Vetochkin, you will listen. For a reason that we do not understand, the Ikarians have chosen to accept the Barony offer—which we know is a bad choice and they do not know. The world of Throth is not meant for this kind of pastoral-type society, and they will learn the hard way, but that is not the issue."
He looked away for a moment and then returned his attention back to the EYES ONLY he was involved with and shook his finger at Anatoly.
The finger stopped shaking at him, but the stare of the Premier was unchanged; his eyes were locked forcefully on Anatoly. He gathered himself by sitting up a bit straighter and then leaned forward to the screen.
"Everything else is off the table—we do not give a damn about anything but your efforts to get the Ikarians to change their minds. That is what is of the utmost importance, and that is what we expect you to get done ... by any means necessary. We do not care how you get this done, Vetochkin, but that it is done. Do you understand, Political Officer Vetochkin?" he finished and then leaned back.
As I expected, Anatoly thought, the usual 'ends justifies the means' type of Novertag mission ... and if I want that seat on the Secretariat, then I'd best get the job done.
"Yes, Premier Sigalov, I understand perfectly and will get the mission accomplished as soon as it can be done, and no, I do not—I will not—countenance failure, Commissar ... you can count on me," he concluded and pounded the desktop and made the console jump a bit.
The Premier nodded and reached forward to end the EYES ONLY, and the screen faded to the Secretariat logo that remained on screen until it too faded out to black. Moving away from his desk in his quarters, he walked the few steps to the viewport on the starboard outer bulkhead, stared out at the Keshowse, and wondered just how he would be able to get this mission accomplished. Truth be known, he thought, I have no idea as to what I can do to get the Ikarians to reconsider, never mind making a whole new choice.
On what basis, he pondered, could he even get the Ikarians to believe that Throth was not the answer to their needs. If he could find a way to do that, he might have a chance to change that decision. As far as he could see, there was no way to get any other item up for that reconsideration. Only Throth herself could be used. The questions was, what else would make the Ikarians change—and for that he really had no answer at all.
#
Walking the labs down on Deck Fifty-two on the Gibraltar, the Lady St. August was not amused, nor was she in any way showing anything else to the white-coated scientists around her. While her EliteGuards were close, they were just far enough behind her grouping that they could not overhear her low tones.
"Exactly what do you mean—and again, Doctor, I remind you to speak to me with the truth and the whole truth—no more of this scientific gobbledygook!" she added a bit harshly, but she had no idea what the answer to her queries had meant.
"Ma’am, I am sorry," the chief scientist said and again half-bowed his head to the Royal in front of him, "but the simple answer is yes, we can find the virus within the blood samples we have taken from the awake Ikarians. But they are as yet of no value to us. They appear to be in some kind of stasis. That is, they are not active whatsoever—at least to our testing. And we have the best testing equipment the Barony could provide. Ma’am," he finished off and waited again for her to comprehend that data.
Helena nodded, then walked a few feet away, and motioned for only the Gibraltar's chief scientist to accompany her, and he came to stand at her side. She gestured all around them and then turned to face him directly.
"So what you're telling me is, with the best scientific equipment that the Barony has, with a team put together by yourself, and with blood samples from all of the Ikarians, you have no idea about whether or not we can get this virus out of them and into us. Do I have that correct, Doctor?" she said.
"Umm ... yes, Ma’am, that is about the size of our issue—but that is not to say that further testing and analysis will not bear out more data that we can then use to extrapolate—"
"Enough. What I will expect then is your full report on my console within the hour, Doctor, which I will then send back to the Baroness, and I wonder how this news will be received?" she said sweetly to the man in front of her. He seemed to recoil when she said that, as she toyed with a rack of empty test tubes that sat on the counter in front of them.
His hands were waving in front of him, and he stuttered out his reply. "Ma’am ... please, this is very early, and we believe that we can—we know we will—find more data with much more study on the Ikarians physiology and the virus. Surely as they have chosen to take Throth, we have the time to do a full work-up," he added and looked at her with a hopeful face.
She nodded at him.
"Full work-up, is that what it's called?" she asked but didn't wait for an answer. "Get back to work, Doctor, and I want that report on my console within the hour."
She turned to walk back to her EliteGuards and left the lab with its newly installed stainless counters, equipment, and technicians. On a destroyer it was a long way back to the central core and the multiple lifts that serviced the whole ship, so it took almost a minute to make it to the lift door. As she stood waiting, she wondered for a moment about how the Baroness might take the news that she may have traded a world for a virus they couldn't use.
#
Tanner was in his cups but still able to say, "enter," as the knock came for the third time on the door to his quarters. He stuffed the bunk's pillow beneath his elbow and tried to look half-asleep instead of half-drunk. The scotch in the glass swished but didn't spill.
"Sir," Bram Sander, his Adept officer said, "I am supposed to inform you of some ... uh ... some news, Sir. News from the Master Adept, Sir," he said and leaned gingerly on the edge of the desk opposite the captain's bunk.
Tanner stared at the Issian before him and then squinted at him as his head tilted to the right.
"News from an Ansible message?" he asked. "Because then I'd have to ask you why whoever is on the bridge didn't contact me via ship's intercom or my PDA," he said as he looked around for the now missing wrist unit. "Bram, is there something else you've not told me?"
He stared with that flat non-sober look that only a real drunk can use and slumped over only a little as he tried to right himself.
Bram looked up at the ceiling of the captains' quarters and then shrugged and turned back to his captain—his friend really.
"Sir, yes, I did not get the message of this news from any Ansible message—it came to me via what we Issians—we Adept officers call the "mind link." It’s a sort of linking of consciousness between Issians, and it's new to me, but yes, that's how I found out the news, Sir."
Tanner nodded at him.
"That's not news in and of itself, Lieutenant. In fact, it's something that all RIM Navy captains learn in our orientation when we have our first Adept Officer assigned to us. But I am surprised—shit, sorry," he said as his glass toppled over onto his bunk.
"Shit," he griped and tried to sop it up with the tail of his uniform shirt that was pulled out of his pants, but it didn't do a good job.
Bram quickly bent over to grab a soiled T-shirt from the floor and soaked up as much of the golden-colored liquid that lay on the bed clothes as he could.
Between them, they both got it mostly mopped up. As Tanner reached for the bottle of Scotch on the floor beside the bunk, Bram grabbed it up first.
"Sir, please ... I'll pour as soon as I relay the message. It's from our Issian Master Adept, and it must be delivered—delivered as it was sent with such importance."
Tanner nodded and looked at his lieutenant with a degree of curiosity, trying to lie still.
"You are now apparently able to do this 'mind-link' task; you are young, I think, for this ability, but here you are anyways," Tanner said.
"Sir, the mind-link was only an hour ago, and the news is somewhat disconcerting ..." Bram said as he once again leaned back on the edge of the desk. "From wha
t the Master Adept says, Sir, and this is from her visions, Sir, the Barony will steal a Sleeper—one of their children, Sir. Soon but the exact date is unknown, just very soon ... Sir."
Tanner shook the empty plas-glass at Bram and waited until the Scotch was poured and swallowed a large stiff drink before he said anything. His forehead was furrowed and he stared directly at his lieutenant
"Bram ... no time line at all on this? Just that the Lady St. August is going to steal a Sleeper. Is that it?" His voice rose as he struggled unsuccessfully to sit up straighter.
Bram nodded and then shook his head madly.
"Sir, Sir ... no mention was made of the Lady St. August. Only that the scientists took a child Sleeper, Sir," he said as he stood to emphasize his point.
"Don't care, Lieutenant. The Lady St. August is in charge of the whole Barony mission here—so either she ordered this abduction or she was told to do just that by the Baroness herself. No other meaning here, Bram ..." Tanner said and slumped back against the wadded-up pillow.
"No other way," he said again and then slurped down the rest of his drink. He waved as Bram left his quarters and then reached down to the floor to pour just one more.
Outside the Marwick over to port lay the Keshowse; it filled the full view-port, and the rows of lit ports on the sleeper bay was long and longer still as his eyes traveled over the length and breadth of the alien ship.
Somewhere over there lay a sleeper tank that would be broached, and its occupant kidnapped and taken God knows where. And while the real question was why, the answer Tanner thought could lie only with one person—the Lady St. August.
He frowned and nodded to himself.
Only one thing he could do then. After all, he was in charge of the whole shebang the admiral had said—or rather had warned him about.